


the needle of your compass

by snsk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Nobody knows where they're going, Pack Feels, Road Trips, Scott needs to pee, all the fluff man, and Scott really needs to pee, in which the Sheriff and Derek conspire (Stiles is extremely suspicious)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:56:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snsk/pseuds/snsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Pack do all-American Road Trip. It’s hot, Scott needs the bathroom, and nobody (apart from Derek) knows quite where they’re headed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the needle of your compass

**Author's Note:**

> For my sister, who wanted a Sterek fic. Happy end of exams, child.

**Part One**

 

Derek informs the pack that they are going on a Road Trip. The capital letters leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that they have any choice in the matter, and so way too early (in everybody’s opinion) on a sunny Saturday morning they arrive at Stiles’ house, whining unfailingly away the whole time it takes for them to get in, and then for some time after that.

 

“You won’t even tell us where we’re going,” Jackson complains at Derek, who is leaning against the kitchen counter with the steady zen calm of one who has reached that special quiet place inside oneself which no annoying groggy grumpy teenage werewolves can touch.

 

“Did you _let yourselves in_ ,” Stiles groans, coming into the kitchen with drowsy eyes and bare feet.

 

“Your dad did,” Derek says cheerfully, because of _course_ he’s a morning person, even though he’s freaking nocturnal. “He said to have fun today, and be back by dinner.”

 

“I remember when he thought you were a serial murdering psychopath,” Stiles reminisces fondly. “I miss that.”

 

“Shut up and eat your breakfast,” Derek growls at him, which for Derek Is positively amiable, so Stiles shuts up and sits down between Scott and Lydia for his breakfast.

 

“MMm, fthid id good,” he says after a bit, spraying scrambled egg over Scott. “Foo did thid?”

 

“Isaac,” Scott informs him, picking egg off of himself. Isaac, from Scott’s left, grins at him. “It _is_ good, isn’t it? And and he did it so fast too with the, with the salt and the sauce and the oil didn’t even splatter him like it does me and and he knows how to cook lasagna too, and smoked salmon and grilled chicken and and and-“

 

“S’cool, Scott, s’really cool, you can tell me all about it later,” Stiles interrupts hurriedly, because he knows from experience how Scott gets with these things. Once Stiles had to suffer through a forty-five minute lecture on What Allison Looks Like When She Studies (subtitled Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic, Stiles) so he’s learned his lesson. “So you still won’t tell me where we’re going?”

 

“Nope,” Derek says.

 

“Das cool,” Stiles says. “Except it’s not you who’s fragile skin and bone in a tightly-packed car-can of feral werewolves driving off to an unknown destination, is it?”

 

“Lydia is too,” Derek points out.

 

“Lydia’s _Lydia_ ,” Stiles informs him.

 

Lydia shrugs in agreement, from where she’s between Erica and Jackson.

 

“Point taken,” Derek concedes. “Now shut up and eat your breakfast, we’ve got to be on the road by eight.”

 

Derek has a big swanky silver new car which can fit everybody in. Stiles bids his Jeep a fond farewell and promises her he’ll be back soon, he doesn’t mean it, it’s just the nasty old Alpha exercising his nasty old Alpha rights over the pack. And also: “Why can’t my Jeep come too?” Stiles asks. “She’s pack.”

 

“Your Jeep can’t fit in my car, Stiles,” Derek says patiently. “Now get in.”

 

Stiles gets into the front passenger seat, which for some weird reason is always reserved for him. It’s probably for the same reason why Stiles always gets a sizable portion of any meal that the pack’s eating, even if he comes the latest, and why when that Alpha pack had threatened Beacon Hills’ wolves, it was Stiles they’d greeted second, after Derek- and with a sort of respect they didn’t reserve for other humans, as Stiles could see from the mangled remains of the dead bodies they’d left lying around.

 

It’s- strange, sometimes, but Stiles can deal with it, if he doesn’t think about it too much. It’s probably in some Werewolf’s Handbook, Rule #789:  One must always be polite and friendly and mindful of weird fragile humans who hang about one’s pack.  It’s probably why they treat Lydia the way they do, with a sort of fearful respect.

 

But then again it’s probably _Lydia_ who’s the reason why they treat Lydia they way they do..

 

“I want ABBA,” Scott requests, poking his head between Stiles and Derek as Derek starts the engine. It comes to life with a smooth purr that Stiles’ Jeep could never achieve. Stiles rolls his eyes, and Derek grins.

 

“No,” Derek tells Scott.

 

“Why not,” Scott whines. “I want to sing along to Dancing Queen, it’s me and my mom’s road trip jam.”

 

Derek doesn’t dignify that with a response.

 

“If he gets ABBA I want Radiohead,” Jackson calls from the back.

 

“No,” Lydia says sweetly, “we’re listening to Muse, aren’t we, honey?”

 

“Radiohead,” Jackson says stubbornly.

 

“I want Katy Perry,” says Boyd, for some reason. Stiles isn’t sure whether he’s joking or not, until he hears Erica giggle.

 

“ABBA,” Scott insists.

 

“I don’t have Muse,” Derek snaps. “Or Radiohead, or Katy Perry, and definitely not ABBA.”

 

“Yes you do,” Scott says, “I saw a Greatest Hits album in your-“

 

Stiles snickers.

 

“All _right_ ,” Derek says, turning around and glaring his pack into submission. He turns on the radio, and Justin Bieber blasts out. This seems to remind the pack of the Consequences of Arguing With Your Alpha: they’re all quiet for a bit.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me, Derek?” Stiles asks, ‘cause the rules of Pack don’t apply to him and Derek’s glowy red eyes don’t so much as scare him than ~~arouse~~   _amuse_ him. He’s suicidal like that. “We could’ve had so many late-night karaoke sessions, man.”

 

Derek sighs.

 

And so they set off into the morning, sun freshly risen, in a car full of sniggering werewolves.


End file.
